My Cure
by rainbowgasms
Summary: Zhuge Liang isn't the only strategist with an intelligent wife! There is more to Zhang Chunhua than meets the eye. Read and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Wow, its been a while since I've been here. I only have one story, and its a oneshot! Eee! But this is the start to another story I started. This sounds really oneshot-ish, but its a full-blown fanfiction. Now on with the disclaimer and all the good stuff. I don't own Dynasty Warriors or any of these characters, blah blah. Koei owns DW, yaddahblaah. However, I own the personality of the narrator, but not the character itself. If that makes any sense... :D 

So aah, have fun reading, I guess. And don't hate me too much.

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Mirrors hold the truth. They do not lie, they do not speak to you with sugar-coated false statements. They do not compliment, nor do they insult, they merely reveal. When I look into a mirror I do not know what is there. I do not see a pretty face, nor an ugly one. I do not see warm, readable eyes, but I do not see harsh cold ones. I see me, I don't see me. I do not know what I am looking for; is it beauty? Is it intelligence? Love? Power? What lies behind these dark eyes, what ambitions lay unborn in my pregnant mind? What is it that I can touch, feel, embrace, but not identify? I do not know, I cannot tell, so I sit in silence contemplating my life.

In the reflection, I can see the moon, high in the sky. Why is it that I sit alone nearly every night, so bored, so tired, yet I cannot sleep. I am afraid to close my eyes, afraid what I will see in the morning. The moon behind me looks out for me, keeps danger away. The moon is my friend, my savior, however it cannot cure my insomnia. There is one thing that can cure me, and I have asked for it several times before. But I cannot have it, I would be greedy if I got my wish.

The vanity no longer amuses me, for I cannot see beyond the truth. My legs push me toward my changing screen with all of the fine silks and brocade that awaits me. I do not understand why people strive to dress in fine fibers. I would be much more at home in common cloth, yet I am forced to wear these hues of blues, purples, blacks. I despise these colors. They represent my kingdom, this kingdom that I am very proud of, but these colors are so very cold. They remind me the sinking feeling of death, the sorrow of the lost. I do not bother to turn my view elsewhere; this despair bleeds all through my bedroom.

I sit back on my bed. I sink into the plush blankets and I feel suffocated. The feeling of containment makes me uneasy, which is why I fear sleep. In this room I cannot leave at night, there is far too much risk in this demi-palace. But also in this room, I feel caged, like a bird kept against its will, or a pet tiger that wishes to race the jungle and feast at its own pace.

Through my contemplation, I can hear the antechamber door open. I am frightened until I hear a familiar voice, a voice that I would love to hear all the time. I turn around and my suspicions prove correct; there he stands, his hair displayed, his cheeks red with anger, his voice stinging my skin like an acupuncturist's needles; they are harshly spoken, but do not do me any damage. He sheds his robes quickly, and is in bed clothes before I know it. He calls me over to sleep beside him, concerned with my erratic behaviors, and I cannot help but obey. I am no slave to this man, but I am not free. I depend on him; he is my cure.

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Oh, I forgot to say one thing. I'd love reviews and constructive criticism on this. But try not to be really mean. 'kay, thank youu! I'll try to update soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

Two updates in two days? I'd say I'm on a roll:D But on to business. As usual, I don't own any of these characters. But I own Chunhua's personality, yadda yadda.

Oh, by the way, I was at earlier today, and I found the ROTK 11 artwork for Chunhua, but I didn't like how the picture didn't go with her personality so when you think of her, please don't think of that picture ;-;. Its just cute and all, just not how I want to portray her. I have one of the 'Created Females' pictures in mind, though. I might link it later. But for now, read, enjoy, and review!

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Sleep comes easy when I have someone to share the night with, however, I awake in the morning and my worst nightmare proves true; he is gone and I am alone.

However I do not falter, and I am up and about performing the daily duties of a lady. I dine with my ladies in waiting until the wet nurses bring down my sons, late as usual. I do not say anything to them, but they already know that they have done something wrong. They prostrate themselves at my feet and beg for forgiveness. I wave them off as I always do, never honestly giving them any sympathy or forgiveness. I hate them enough because they are the ones taking care of my sons; they are the ones who were watching them grow up, not me. My oldest son Shi, always so very shy around me, speaking to me as if I was the empress, however my younger son, Zhao, was only an infant, yet he was a spitting image of his father. He was shameless and eager to learn, to conquer, to rule. He was not shy around me and enjoyed sitting on my lap while he ate his simple rice porridge.

Afternoons were filled with prayer and lamentation. I would always stop mid-prayer, and silently wish for my husband's early arrival. I could not bear the thought of him at work with the fickle Princess Fu nearly begging him to grace her with his love. Her constant begging, whining, complaining, made me dislike her all the more. My husband was mine and mine alone.

My menacingly routine day was thrown into chaos the moment I opened the door to the study. It is usually empty; the once loved books the only presence available. However, on this particular day, I found my husband slumped over on the desk, sound asleep. My maternal instincts I rushed to the bedroom to fetch him a pillow and a blanket. As I moved his strategy books and scrolls out of the way, I could not help but take a peak at the work that my husband loved more than me.

I soon found myself lost in the world of men as I turned the pages of these guides of war. The terminology was far simpler than I had ever anticipated; the words just clicked in my mind. I became intrigued with this work, and could not stop myself from looking at the battle plans my husband had been arranging.

The map I had rolled out on the floor looked so forlorn. There were so many unfinished thoughts jotted down on the corners, scribbles painfully etched into the landscape. Numbers littered the surface. They were almost all proportions; mathematics was a favorite subject of mine. I noticed different handwriting that was not my husband's; perhaps it was a fellow strategist jotting down his thoughts.

This work appealed to me much more than the hobbies that women my age were supposed to engage in. Instead of picking up embroidery as a younger girl, I studied philosophy and mathematics. Instead of knitting a gift for someone, I rolled open ancient strategy scrolls and read those timeless words.

As I was closing the grand scroll, _The Art of War_, my fingers drifted to a blank piece of parchment, ink, and a calligraphy brush. With perfected handwriting, I wrote a simple poem of encouragement to my husband and his fellow scholars:

_Quick wit and unseen grace_  
_Do not fly solo, bring your friends_  
_And tomorrow will bring success_

I made sure to leave it unsigned, because it would surely be improper for a woman to be peeping into the brutal world of war.

Tucking the poem into a well-loved notebook gave me a feeling of momentary bliss. I felt useful for the first time; I did not feel like a piece of property any longer. I placed the satchel of strategy guides next to the desk my husband was sleeping on and promptly left the study. I had stayed far too long.

By the time I was done entertaining the ladies in my court, I found my husband sleeping in our bedroom, that wonderful bag of books calling to me. I wished to open it once again and go on that journey once again, but it was forbidden for women to study the tragedies of combat. Except for one woman, I thought bitterly.

Zhuge Liang, my husband's rival and the enemy's brilliant strategist, had his wife working by his side. Huang Yue Ying, or Yue Ying as many simply put, was not a woman of ordinary merits. She was a brilliant woman with a knack for inventing. However, she was not the only woman in these three kingdoms with a hunger for knowledge.

I had always been a fan of learning, even in my younger days. As a child I can recall watching my mother with her soft voice and soft hands sitting quietly, embroidering designs on to her children's clothing. I had never really taken to working with fabrics and the like; as soon as I could pick up a brush I had been writing. My works never became noticed, so I collected them in a book until my father came about them on accident. He was astonished, and took me under his wing. I had never picked up a sword, spear, or any weapon in my life; my weapon of choice was my words.

As soon as my teaching was over, my works began to be noticed by small-town scholars. I was most famous for my poetry and my novellas. No one ever paid any attention to my essays and lectures about world problems, or economic successes and failures. They read my fictional work to escape the harsh reality of life, and ignored my non-fictional work to do the same.

Still, at the age of fourteen, still unmarried and still not-so famous, I feared that I would never strike a good match, until Sima Yi, my husband, the most brilliant man to ever look at my writing, visited my home. In less than two years, I was living with him in his home.

At the same time, I was hearing of Zhuge Liang's courting of Yue Ying. I was jealous that Sima Zhongda did not want me for my strategic mind, like Kongming wanted Lady Huang. It enraged me so much to know that I would not die famous; I would be lost in the shadows of time.

However, I did not go unnoticed when my husband brought me around to his home. His family, and eventually the entire Wei camp, praised me for my literature, and surprisingly, they even made polite remarks about my beauty. No one had ever noticed my appearance before my marriage to my husband.

My mind was still seen as a machine for fiction, not a tactical instrument. I never really gained the acknowledgement I thought I deserved and it irked me more than anything.

Still, though Huang Yue Ying may have her name ringing through the land, but she does not have Sima Zhongda as her husband, and that is one thing I am so very grateful for. Though he is not the most romantic, he treats me with respect and enforces that everyone else treats me rightfully so. Maybe one day I will have the courage to speak about my mind to him.

"Chunhua?" I hear my husbands voice call, ripping me from my thoughts. "My wife, please come to bed. You're doing nothing but staring off into space."

I cannot say anything, for my embarrassment kept me from doing so. I merely bow in apology and situate myself for bed.


End file.
